


A Man Needs to Know When to Ask for Help

by golden_gardenias



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Could Be Canon, Gap Filler, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:38:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2092497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_gardenias/pseuds/golden_gardenias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What I imagine to be Brian's introspection during Justin's stint as a go-go boy at Babylon, and a look at what might have happened if he knew the true circumstances surrounding Justin's decision to quit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man Needs to Know When to Ask for Help

**Author's Note:**

> -I tried to make their conversation and Justin's reactions as realistic as possible, so I merged what my responses would most likely be and Justin's mannerisms. Hopefully it doesn't come off as too out of character.  
> -In the actual episode, Justin is still wearing his sneakers when he kicks Sap, but for my story, I had to make him barefoot.
> 
> [Originally published on MidnightWhispers in January 2014, under the penname NicJ. Some minor changes have been made.]

  
Justin's lame assed father has refused to pay his tuition for the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts.   You've offered to pay it for him, but he refuses to accept your money, calling it handouts and insisting that he has to be his own man and start taking care of himself.  


So naturally, this means being a go-go boy at Babylon.

His first night is the night of the Angel Ball, a fundraiser for the charity Angels Over Pittsburgh, which brings meals to AIDS patients.

_Is there any such thing as a bad cause?_

The dancers are trussed up like turkeys, scantily clad in tight white shorts and feathery angel wings.  He looks hot.

You can see him out the corner of your eye, dancing above the crowds; swiveling his hips, jutting his ass out, working it for all he's worth.

You can't watch.

Emmett remarks about having a part-time job walking dogs when he was in college, joking about making a living "wagging your tail."

You don't laugh.

You end up walking away from the boys, going down the bar, but still staying close enough to Justin's perch to keep an eye on him.  Mikey storms off too, and you intercept him. You know that something's bothering him, and he's quick to vent to you, blow off some steam about his mother lying about who his father is.  You try to make a joke of it to cheer him up, but he doesn't smile.

The two of you stand and watch his father perform "Cheek to Cheek."  Your mind wanders during the performance, lost in thoughts of Justin dancing, parading himself around like a piece of meat, allowing himself to be objectified...

Wait.

You're Brian Fucking Kinney, for Christ's sake.  What the fuck do you care if some twink is objectifying himself above the plebs on the dance floor?  Why should it matter to you if he's inviting men to think about him, fantasize about him?  Shit, the two of you fuck every hot guy you see; why is this, right now, any different from that?

It scares you that you don't know the answers to those questions.

But you do know the answer--one answer to all those questions.

You're just too scared to admit it.

 

You leave after Divina Devore's performance, not wanting to stick around and watch Justin degrade himself.  It gets closer and closer to your 3 am curfew, and he's not home yet. You won't allow yourself to worry about him, but you will keep yourself up until he gets home.

You try to convince yourself that it's because you'll want to fuck him when he gets back, and maybe at one point that was true, but things are different now.  You're different. Sort of.  Not different enough to be able to think any of this without cringing on the inside, but different enough to acknowledge it.

The loft door slides open.

_Finally_.

"Still up?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm doing my homework," you reply.  You're silent for a few seconds, thinking so much but not knowing what to say.  "It's late," you settle on, hoping that he'll understand the unspoken words.  Where have you been, what have you been doing, and who have you been doing it with?

"I had to talk to the boss."

Sap.  Gary fucking Sapperstein, owner and operator of Babylon.  The two of you never really hit it off--something about him always rubbed you the wrong way.  It was almost like the prickly feeling you get around straight people; you'll half-heartedly attempt to be polite, but the entire time you're trying to think of how best to get away.

You've heard some things about him, things that don't necessarily endear him to you.  Especially now that he's Justin's boss.

"He said starting tomorrow I could dance on the bar," Justin says.

"After only one night?" you ask, voice tight.  You keep your eyes fixed on your laptop screen, not wanting Justin to see the war raging behind them.

"Told you I can take care of myself."  He walks over to you and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.  You don't respond, but watch him walk to the bedroom.

"Yeah, I guess you can."  The words come out of your mouth reluctantly.  You're used to always taking care of everyone, especially him, Michael, and Lindsay.  Letting him do it on his own is a foreign concept; as much as you want him to be his own person, you won't let him flounder around with no direction or means of getting there.  It's against your nature.

Your-- _cough_ \--kind and generous nature.

 

* * *

 

It's Justin's first night dancing on the bar, and he's cleaning up rather well.  The guys all love him, shoving money down his shorts until they're practically overflowing.  His hair is slightly spiky and there's something in his eyes, some fire that keeps him going and keeps them coming--in each sense of the word.

His flame is burning bright tonight.

You're late joining the boys at the bar, but you catch the tail-end of their conversation, overhearing Ted saying, "If I were Brian, I'd go crazy seeing all those guys pawing my boyfriend."

"You know, it must be true what they say about deafening music damaging your eardrums.  I could swear I heard you say 'If you were me?'"

Ted flounders for a moment, and you kind of enjoy making him squirm, but then Mikey chimes in.  "It's gotta bother you a little bit.  I mean everybody knows the only way you get to dance on the bar is if you let the boss blow you."

"It's business," you say quickly, not wanting to think about Justin and the Sap together.  You did enough of that last night.

"Getting head to get ahead?"  Emmett asks.

"He's earning an honest living, not taking any handouts."  You wish they'd just fucking drop it already, and then Justin comes up behind you, saving you from having to endure the rest of this conversation.

"Check out how much money I'm making!" he says excitedly, holding out wads of cash.

You press yourself against his side, looking down at his hands.  "That's enough to put a child through school," you quip.

"Shouldn't the child be at home, in bed?" Michael asks.

"That's a good idea," you agree.   _Please, let's just go home._

"I can't, I have to work til 2," Justin says.

"But sweetie, you already look exhausted," Emmett adds.  "How are you going to keep it up?"

"Especially at home," Ted snarks.

_Oh fuck off, Theodore.  I'm not in the mood._

"Don't worry," Justin insists.  He kisses you as reassurance, and you can't help but lean in again.  He always tastes so fucking _good_...

"I'm not paying you to make out with your boyfriend."  Sap's voice cuts between you.  You want to tell him to fuck off, but Justin beats you to it.

"I'm on a break."

"Break's over."

"Relax, Sap.  He's keeping your customers happy."   _He's been fucking dancing all night and hasn't even been over here for two minutes, the fuck do you mean his break's over?_

"It's Sapperstein, Kinney.  And they're my customers, not yours."

He pulls Justin away with a hand on the back on his neck, running his fingers through the hair there.  "You're mine for the next four hours," you hear him say.  The words and the gesture send a chill down your spine, and you recognize the beginnings of worry gnawing at your gut.

"What an asshole," Ted says.

You don't reply, instead turning around to watch the Sap and Justin together.  Sap takes something out of his pocket and hold it up to Justin's nose.  He snorts it, and Sap whispers something in his ear.

You keep the information to yourself, knowing you'll play it over in your head a thousand times while you're waiting to take Justin home tonight.

No more late-night meetings with the boss.  Not if you can help it.

 

Justin should be dead on his feet when you get home, but the coke Sap gave him still has him wired.

He's never taken drugs that you haven't given him.  Whenever Justin does poppers or ecstasy, he's with you.  He doesn't take the pills that strangers offer him in the back room, always says "No thanks" when dance partners ask him if he wants a bump.

And now he's fucking snorting the fucking _cocaine_ that fucking Sap gives him.

Cocaine.

Justin, the walking PSA, the boy who told you that you should never take drugs that aren't prescribed by a doctor or recommended by a trusted pharmacist, just fucking did cocaine like it wasn't a big deal.

And fuck if that doesn't scare the living shit out of you.

 

* * *

 

Even though you sleep fitfully, you wake up in time to get to work.  Justin is dead to the world, and you set an alarm to get him out of bed.  When the shrill beeping fills the air, he frowns and turns over to shut it off, but you pull it out of his reach.

"Good morning, Sunshine," you coo at him sarcastically.  "I thought you had a class."

"I ditched it," he grumbles.

"How are you supposed to do your best work when you're up all night fucking around?"

"I'm taking lessons from you," he shoots back.  "And I'm not fucking around, I'm working."

"Yeah, I saw how you work.  Sticking that funny white powder the Sap gave you up your cute little button nose."  He aggressively brushes your finger away from his face.

"You're supposed to be putting yourself through school, not getting so hammered that you can't make it to class."

He rolls over and picks up the wad of cash on his night stand.  "Four-hundred and ten dollars in one night," he snaps, throwing it back down.

"For your tuition, which you won't have to worry about when they kick you out."

"You sound like my father.  Now fuck off."

He rolls over again.  You don't want him to have the last word, so you turn the alarm back on, take off his blankets, and set the clock firmly on the floor.

You can still hear him groaning as you close the loft door.

 

Emmett's retirement party* is that evening.  You stand with Justin, in the outer ring of the crowd gathered around Emmett and Ted, listening to Emmett's speech and cracking jokes at Ted's expense.

Justin suppresses a yawn and sways a bit.  You lean in to look at his face, seeing the beginnings of bags forming under his eyes.  "Working tonight?" you ask.

He nods.  "Nine to two."

"You can hardly keep your head up."

He looks at you, and you can tell he knows that you're worried about him.  "I'll be alright," he assures you.

You nod.  "Sap will see to that," you say gruffly, jaw clenched.  "If you don't want me to give you the money, I'll loan it to you."

"I don't need your handouts," he hisses.

"It's not a handout.  When you graduate and get a real job, you can pay me back.  With interest."

"No thanks," he says firmly.

He's starting to irritate you now.  "Why are you being such a twat?"

"I am not being a twat; I'm trying to look after myself for once instead of always letting you do it for me."

That's noble of him, but right now you really couldn't care less.  "Look," he says, "you once told me you wanted to make me the best homosexual it was possible for me to be. Doesn't that include being a man?"

Fair point, but not one you're willing to acknowledge.

"Sometimes a man knows when to accept help."

 

* * *

 

Justin is hard at work on the computer you got him when you get home.  You stand behind him for a moment before bending to kiss his cheek, nuzzling his head briefly as you straighten up.

You sit beside him and pick up a print-out of what he's done already.  "That's not bad."

"Thanks."

"Maybe we'll even hang it."

He looks up at you.  "Really?" he sounds excited at the prospect.

"Then you can tell everybody you're hung," you quip, leaning in to kiss him.

"I already do," he quips after you pull away.

You pull out a cigarette.  "So how did you get the night off?"  You pose the question off-handedly, trying to hide your burning curiosity.

"I told the boss I had to finish a project."

"That was easy," you remark.

"Mhm.  Told you I could handle it," he sasses.

You pinch him.  "Smart-ass."

"In fact," he calls after you walk away, "he said I could have to whole weekend if I just went to some after-hours party at his house."

"For what?" you ask.

He shrugs.  "He wants some pretty boys there for decoration."

You scoff.  "Who else is gonna be there?"

"How should I know?  His friends?"

"I can imagine what kind of friends he has.  I can guess what kind of party he's having, that guy's a fucking sleaze."

Justin shrugs it off.  "You don't know him."

"I know how you got to dance on the bar."

He turns to look at you.  "I let him blow me.  Big deal."

This all sounds so wrong to you, so warped and just...wrong.

"I'll give you five-thousand dollars."

"What for?"

"That drawing."

He turns back to face his computer.  "It's not for sale."

You stare at him.  "No.  Just you."

You walk away to get your jacket.  Time to get hammered with the boys and forget about Justin and Sap and the fear screaming at you to do something.

Before it's too late.

 

* * *

 

Mikey's mouthing-off at the cop that pulled him over for speeding last night landed you, him, and Ted in jail for the night.  You've missed your three a.m. curfew by about seven hours.

Justin is at his computer when you make it home, hard at work on his computer on his school project.

"What happened to you last night?" he asks.

"Don't ask."

"We have an arrangement," he reminds you lightly.

"Home by three or my balls turn into pumpkins."  He laughs.  "Believe me, you didn't miss a thing," you say dryly.

You get a beer out of the fridge, not caring about how early it is.  You know you might need it for what comes next.  "How was the party?" you ask.

"Incredibly tedious.  I left early."

"Bet the Sap didn't like that."

"Fuck the Sap."

You're relieved to hear him say that.

"Anyway...I quit."

And even more relieved at that, pulling off your clothes and getting into bed.

"I decided that working all night and going to school during the day was counterproductive to my goals.  I need to prioritize.  Concentrate on my art.  So...I'd like to take you up on your offer.  If it still stands."

You look at him for a moment as he stands before you, nervous.  It reminds you of when peasants would request audiences with their rulers, talking about their problems and asking for help.  You know that you'll always help him.

You want to relieve his tension, so you make a joke of it, looking under the covers at your half-hard cock.  "It still stands."

He laughs, taking off his shirt.

"We'll need to discuss the terms of the loan," he says as he crawls up the bed toward you.  "Interest, repayment schedule, and we should have something in writing."

You nod.  "Of course."

You'll draw up some papers later, but now that everything has been resolved, it's time for more important things.

Namely, your neglected cock.  The two of you haven't even exchanged hand jobs in what feels like ages.

You push him down, ready to start kissing him, when a though occurs to you.  "So what made you change your mind?"  It's odd that he has now decided to end his time as a go-go boy, but you won't complain.  Something has finally made him come to his senses and accept your help.

Justin's stubborn, and for him to so abruptly change his tune is unprecedented.

Something must have happened.

"A man needs to know when to ask for help."

He rolls over on top of you and starts kissing you, taking off his pants as he goes.  You take out a condom and start to open it when he stops you and takes it away.  You can see his actions and know his intentions, but it's not entirely registering with you.

You don't know what to say, what to do.  You're also kind of scared, but you won't admit that; you haven't bottomed since you lost your virginity to your gym teacher when you were fourteen, and you're sure this won't be anything like that.

Because now you know what's going on.  Now you can trust the body behind you.

Justin pushes at your shoulder, trying to get you to roll over, and the part of you that needs to be in control makes you turn around and look at him.  He meets your eyes and kisses you softly, and you can feel the assurance in it, can see it in his eyes.

He'll take care of you.

 

* * *

 

 

_**Two Days Later** _

Justin has been acting strange.  Well, stranger than usual, anyway.

He's walking oddly, favoring his left foot and walking on the side of his right, as if he hurt it.  He's wearing socks, too, instead of going barefoot like he usually does.

And he won't go to Babylon.

He's turned you down two nights in a row when normally he's the one asking when you're going to leave, saying that he has school work to do.  But when you get home--way earlier than usual, you might add--he's curled up under the duvet pretending to be asleep.

At first you think that he wants to avoid seeing Sap, embarrassed over quitting his job, but you quickly toss that idea aside.  Justin doesn't shy away from anyone.

But since you can't come up with your own explanation for his behavior, you decide to ask him about it.

"What's wrong with your foot?"

He's setting your grocery bags on the table, but stops.  "What?"

"You've been limping for days.  Did you hurt your foot?"

He's quiet for a few seconds, then goes back to the groceries.  "It's nothing," he says dismissively.

You look at him for a moment, trying to decide how best to approach this.  "When did it happen?"

"Christ, will you just let it go already?" he snaps, annoyed.

The outburst was completely unnecessary, and that's how you know it must have been bad, because he doesn't want to talk about it.

"When did it happen, Justin?" your voice is firmer now, telling him that he has no other option but telling you.

He knows this, and he sighs.  "A couple days ago.  But it's fine.  Everything's fine."

You wrack your brain; you would know if it had happened here, and he doesn't really go anywhere without you.

Except...

He was at that party at Sap's place.  The one you didn't want him to go to.

"What happened?"

Silence.

"What happened at the party, Justin?"

His head snaps up to look at you, confused.  "How did you know--"

"Just answer the question."  You know that this is it: why he left early, why he quit, why he won't go back...

"There was...an altercation," he says, vague and hesitant.  "Things were starting to get a little out of hand, and I wound up kicking Sap in the mouth barefoot.  I broke one of his caps and it cut my toe, but I'm fine."

You're quiet for a few moments, burning with questions.  "Let me see it."

He reluctantly takes off his shoe and gingerly pulls his sock off, revealing a red cut on the top of his foot between his third and fourth toes.

You don't know what to say.  "Have you put anything on it?" you ask.

He nods.  "Neosporin.  My mom used to call it 'miracle cream' as a joke when I was younger."  He smiles wistfully at the memory, and you can see a twinge of regret in his eyes, but you ignore it.

"What did you mean when you said that things were getting out of hand?"

He looks uncomfortable, and he's avoiding your eyes.

"Justin," you say sharply.  "Just fucking tell me."

He takes a deep breath.  "They--Sap and his friends, they, um...they tried to get me to get into this sling that they had set up in one of the rooms, and I didn't want to."

His hand is shaking slightly, and you hold it in yours, rubbing it gently, comforting him.  "They tried to force you?" you ask quietly.

He can hear something in your voice, something quietly dangerous.  "Yes."

Your hands still on his for a moment, but then you resume your massage, pensive.

You look up at him, but he can't hold eye contact with you.  He looks at the floor, and you think it's shame, but you can see nervousness there too.

"What else is there?" you ask.

He gulps.

"Tell me," you demand, voice hard.  The fear that was your constant companion while he was dancing has made its way back, gnawing incessantly at your gut while you wait for his answer.

"They planned it," he admits quietly.  "Sap and his friends, they planned it.  He told me to go there and then he told his friends, and they just kept looking at me, the whole night, and touching my arm when they walked past me.  It--it made me nervous.  Sap wanted me to loosen up, so he gave me a joint, but it was stronger than I thought it would be, and then--God, I was so stupid, Brian."  He puts his head in his hand.

"What?  What is it?"

He speaks quietly, not lifting his head up.  "I snorted a line of--of coke, and Sap said I looked thirsty, so he handed me a drink--"

No.

All at once, you know what Justin is going to say, can see it happening in your head.

_Justin, taking a sip, not knowing it's spiked._

_Sap, leading him back to the room with the sling._

_Justin, disoriented, not knowing what's going on._

_Sap, laughing, undoing his pants._

_Sap's friends, running their hands over Justin's body._

"--and I told him I didn't want to, I told them, but they wouldn't listen."

_Justin, fighting back._

"I don't remember how I got here, but I--I was scared, and I threw up in the kitchen."

_Justin, afraid and alone._

"I didn't want you to be mad at me when you got back, so I cleaned it up and took a shower.  I puked again, and drank some water bottles.  Ate some toast.  I was fine by the time you got home."

The silence that follows his confession stretches on for eons, both of you waiting for you to say something.

There's so much rattling around inside you that you don't know where to start: Lingering concern for Justin's safety.  Irritation at him for not listening to you. Anger at Sap for putting him in danger. Anger at yourself for letting him go to the party. Anger at Micheal for getting you thrown in jail so that you couldn't be here when he got back. Guilt for not taking care of him when he needed it. Guilt for not protecting him. Regret.

You finally look up at him to find him staring at you.  There's sorrow and anguish in his eyes, and you long for it to go away.

You reach out and pull him into your chest.  You can feel him let out a rattling breath, clinging to you.  You put your hand on the back on his neck and run your fingers through his hair, comforting him.

You can feel him rubbing your back, trying to comfort you, too.

The words are burning at the back of your throat, hanging in the air around you, not necessarily needing to be spoken, but rather needing to be heard.  "You should have listened to me," you say quietly.

His arms tighten around you.  "I know," he whispers back.

You pull back and look at him, at the gamut of emotions flitting across his face: sadness and shame, remorseful and anger.  Fear.  There are unshed tears shining in his eyes, and you're reminded of the boy who stood here last year, crying as you packed for New York.

You know that you could never leave him.

Suddenly it's too much, and you can't look at him anymore.  You turn away, leaning against the kitchen table.

"Fuck, Justin, you could have been--they could have--"

But you can't say it, can hardly think it.

"They were going to hurt you," you say quietly.

You feel him place his hand lightly on your back.  "I'm sorry," he says softly.

"Sorry's bullshit," your automatic response.  You can feel him flinch at the words and find yourself wanting to take them back.

You push away from the table and begin to pace in small circles, running your hands through your hair.

Fuck, you're no good at this.

You look at him, at the forlorn expression on his face, at the way his shoulders are slumped forward, at how small and young and beautiful he is--

"I want you safe, Justin."

He meets your eyes.  You walk back over to him, put your hands on the sides of his face, press your foreheads together.  "I want you safe, and I want you around for a long time."

 

The two of you don't go to Babylon that night, and when the boys call looking for you, you tell them that you're staying in.

They can party without you tonight.

You wake up before Justin, as per usual, the next morning.  You watch him sleep for a few minutes, something you don't normally indulge in, but kind of enjoy doing occasionally.

You wonder how someone could look at him and decide to hurt him, how someone could _want_ to hurt him.

He's already been hurt so much.

Your anger flares up again, and you find yourself itching to do something.  Justin won't want to tell the police, and you know he can't avoid Babylon forever.

You get your phone and decide to call a number you never thought you'd use.

"Sapperstein, what can I do for you?"

Hearing his voice isn't helping much, but you need to do this.

"Hello, Sap."

There's a beat of silence on the other end of the phone.  "Kinney.  This is certainly a surprise."

You laugh without humor.  "Yeah, I can imagine.  Can you imagine my surprise when Justin told me he'd quit dancing for you?  Or, better yet--can you imagine my surprise when he told me _why_?"

The silence lasts longer this time.  "Look, Kinney--"

"No, you look, Sap," you cut him off viciously.  "I don't give a shit what you do in your personal time when you're hanging out with your scumbag friends, and I don't give a shit who you do it with.  But when you do it with _him_ , then we have a problem."

"What do you want?" he asks, sounding distinctly uncomfortable.

"It's pretty simple--stay the fuck away from Justin, and stay the fuck away from me.  Because we'll have a pretty fucking serious problem on our hands if you don't.  And pass that along to your friends, too."

You have to fight to keep your voice level, so as to not wake Justin.

"Listen to me--are you listening?"

"Yes, Kinney, I'm listening."  You can hear the irritation in his voice, and that only makes you angrier.   _What the fuck does he have to be irritated about?  Fucking prick._

"Don't talk to him, don't look at him, don't even fucking think about him.  And if I catch you doing any of the above, _there will be hell to pay_.  Understand?"

"Yeah," his voice is shaky.  "Yeah, I understand."

"Good.  Have a good day, motherfucker."

 

"You feeling up for Babylon tonight?"

Justin's at his computer, doodling.  He turns and looks at you, biting his lip, deliberating.

Finally, he nods.  "Sure.  Let's do it."

You kiss him resolutely in assurance and watch him get ready.

When you arrive, he keeps his arm around you, just like he did when the two of you would walk down the street after his bashing.

The two of you meet up with the rest of the boys at the bar.  Justin still looks a little nervous, looking over his shoulder.  You wrap your arm around him and pull him into your side.  "Just relax, okay?" you whisper in his ear.  "Don't worry."

The first round of drinks comes out, and Justin just looks at his.

Emmett notices and frowns.  "Is something wrong, baby?"

Justin looks up at him and smiles slightly.  "I'm fine."  He picks up the drink and takes a swig.  You kiss the side of his head and ruffle his hair.

The tension lifts after a few minutes, and before long Justin is talking and laughing with everyone else.  He throws back the rest of his bottle and grabs your hands.  "Let's dance!"

You let him lead you out onto the dance floor, let him grind on you, let him lose himself in it.  There are a few guys that look at him and start to make their way over, but you keep them back with a menacing glare; you want him to enjoy tonight, with no possible risk of discomfort.

And part of you isn't ready to share him yet, but you won't tell him that.  You won't tell anyone.

Hell, you won't even tell yourself.

This story archived at <http://www.midnightwhispers.ca/viewstory.php?sid=2923>

**Author's Note:**

> *For those of you who don't know or don't remember exactly, I'm referring to the party Ted throws Emmett before he sets off on his world-travelling adventure with George.


End file.
